blog.

This is the book we have been quoting from for the season of Ordinary time this year.

As a follow up to her two bestselling books, Bittersweet and Cold Tangerines, author and blogger Shauna Niequist returns with the perfect read for those who love food and value the community and connection of family and friends around the table.Bread and Wine is a collection of essays about family relationships, friendships, and the meals that bring us together. This mix of Anne Lamott and Barefoot Contessa is a funny, honest, and vulnerable spiritual memoir. Bread and Wine is a celebration of food shared, reminding readers of the joy found in a life around the table. It's about the ways God teaches and nourishes people as they nourish the people around them. It's about hunger, both physical and otherwise, and the connections between the two.With wonderful recipes included, from Bacon-Wrapped Dates to Mango Chicken Curry to Blueberry Crisp, readers will be able to recreate the comforting and satisfying meals that come to life in Bread and Wine.

Isn’t it uncanny how often significant conversations begin while seated around a table? Be they first coffee dates, university discussion groups, Sunday family lunches, funny stories shared around a campfire, or the significance of the wedding banquet across cultures worldwide, conversation grows relational connection, often facilitated by the sharing of food and drink. How can you begin a weekly practice of curated, intentional conversations, seated around a table of your choosing? Here are a few questions to kickstart your conversation:•What insight has stuck with you this past month from reading the essay introducing Ordinary Time, “Conscious Partial Attention?”•How has your growing awareness of technological creep influenced your life and relationships?•How is the table to be a place of “sorrowful mourning and silent fasting, a place where brokenness is shouldered together?”•Dialogue through Shauna Niequiest’s assertion that“Food is a language of care, the thing we do when traditional language fails us, when we don’t know what to say, when there are no words to say.”(Shauna Niequist, p. 14 of “On Bread and Wine,”Bread and Wine). What implications does her idea suggest?

“You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.”(George Herbert, “Love (III)”)

To practice Christian meditation literally means “to chew upon” a Scriptural text as one would savour a delicious mouthful of food. How can you develop a weekly rhythm as a Jesus follower of “chewing upon the Bread of Life?” One method involves the spiritual practice of “Lectio Divina: Sacred Reading” (download PDF), a simple way to slowly open your heart to the Living Word of God alive within the Scriptures. Experiment with face-to-face moments each week (whether in person, or via FaceTime) where you are chewing on the weekly liturgy with someone else in our community.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”(Jesus in Matthew 5:4)“Food is a language of care, the thing we do when traditional language fails us, when we don’t know what to say, when there are no words to say.”(Shauna Niequist, p. 14 of “On Bread and Wine,”Bread and Wine)

While theological perspective varies across the spectrum regarding the literal nature of Job’s testing and how exactly Satan influenced him, the opening chapters of one of the oldest narratives in the Scriptures are brutal and unflinching in their description of Job’s suffering.

In a short span of time, he literally loses everything –property, financial resources, physical appearance, the emotional support of his wife. Perhaps worst of all, a natural disaster collapses his oldest son’s house, killing all of Job’s children in one fell swoop. Three close friends hear of his great loss, and go to comfort him. When they saw Job, “they could hardly recognise him,” (Job 2:12) so great was his loss. And so they ‘sat shiva’ with Job, entering into his mourning with him, “no one saying a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was” (Job 2:13). They sat together low to the ground, embracing the loss of Job’s children with him. While not directly mentioned in the text, this Jewish custom of mourning often involved shared food, drink, and fasting together with family and friends sitting shiva with you. And thus, subtly read between the lines, but no less significant, the function of the table as a gathering place to mourn and “suffer with”(the root meaning of compassion) is understood anew.

While the table is a place of joyful celebration and boisterous feasting, it also is a place of sorrowful mourning and silent fasting, a holy place where brokenness is shouldered together. Consider whether your table is safely inviting in this manner as well. Invite a friend to share the table with you, using the spiritual practice of “Imagining the Text: Ignatian Contemplation”(see attached PDF) to imaginatively enter into the scene of Job 1:1-2:13 (in particular, 2:11-13).

“It happens when we enter the joy and the sorrow of the people we love, and we join together at the table to feed one another and be fed, and while it’s not strictly about food, it doesn’t happen without it. Food is the starting point, the common ground, the thing to hold and handle, the currency we offer to one another. It’s no accident that when a loved one dies, the family is deluged with food. The impulse to feed is innate. Food is a language of care, the thing we do when traditional language fails us, when we don’t know what to say, when there are no words to say.” (Shauna Niequist, p. 14 of “On Bread and Wine,” Bread and Wine)

My wife’s Grandma, Ouma Maxie, from which she derives her name, passed away somewhat suddenly, albeit peacefully, a few nights ago, throwing our busy lives into chaotic disarray. The grieving process falls suddenly, like an unexpected grey rain soaking through our shirts with gentle ferocity, seemingly unaware of deadlines, sickness, and inconvenience, the slow dawning of permanent relational loss. As David Crowder sings mournfully, “Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.” While our family is grateful for the peaceful rest and inexpressible joy that Ouma Maxie now experiences in the fullness of Jesus’ presence, her absence is acutely felt ‘on this side,’ a literal chair standing empty at the family table, reminding us that her sweet soul is gone.

And so, our family makes the trek across South Africa this weekend for her funeral, to remember her life, honouring her character as we share stories of her felt presence in our family. While many of the rituals and symbols associated with her memorial will be familiar (testimonies of remembrance, heartfelt prayers for the family, the finality of burial in a coffin), for us, her family, it will be particular and unique – the loss of our mother, grandmother, sister, and friend.

The place where this unique particularisation will most deeply be shared? Around the family table, whether literal or symbolic. We will gather together, sharing physical proximity to shoulder common loss, all in the company of comfort food. While rarely considered, this intimacy will most likely take place while sitting around the same table Ouma Maxie once graced, mourning her loss while beginning the slow journey of making peace with her passing.

The table facilitates this shared suffering greater than almost any other common item in the family home. It brings together all who have lost, unifying us around a space where relational connection can take place. It creates a holy space where loss can be processed, laughter can be heard, and memories can be exchanged. What a marvellous and rare place this truly is!

“Maybe you think you don’t want to work on vacation. But when you’re staying at Babylonstoren, tucked in the Cape Winelands outside Cape Town, you’d be wrong. To start, you can play farmhand on the hotel’s 1,400 breathtaking acres: Gather produce – peaches, mulberries, stuff you’ve never even heard of (loquats!) – bake bread early in the morning, press olive oil from the 8,800 olive trees, harvest honey with the resident beekeeper. Then head back to your room, stylish whitewashed quarters inspired by centuries-old farm cottages, and cook your bounty in the room’s glass-cubed kitchen. Open a bottle of wine from the property, and wonder why making dinner doesn’t feel this magical at home.” (Excerpts and Recipes from “Eat, Drink, and Garden Your Heart Out at Babylonstoren,” in the May 2015 issue of Bon Appetit magazine. // Recipes by Maranda Engelbrecht). Roast Chicken with Rhubarb Butter and Asparagus “Talk about a spring chicken. The sour-sweet rhubarb butter seasons and bastes the meat as the bird roasts.”

1. Bring rhubarb, orange juice, honey, and ginger to a simmer in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until rhubarb is soft but not falling apart, about 5 minutes. Drain over a small bowl. Reserve cooking liquid and rhubarb separately; let cool. 2. Mix rhubarb and butter in a small bowl until smooth; season with salt and pepper. Set aside 1 tablespoon rhubarb butter for vegetables. 3. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit (~200 degrees Celsius). Place chicken, skin side up, on a rimmed baking sheet. Gently slide your fingers underneath skin to loosen and rub flesh all over with remaining rhubarb butter (try not to tear skin). Drizzle chicken with 1 tablespoon oil and some of the reserved rhubarb cooking liquid, scatter thyme over, and season with salt and pepper. 4. Roast chicken until skin is browned and crisp and meat is cooked through. Jjuices will run clear and an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of a thigh should register 165 degrees Fahrenheit (~75 degrees Celsius), 40 – 50 minutes. Let rest 10 minutes. 5. Meanwhile, prepare grill for medium-high heat (or heat a grill pan over medium-high). Toss asparagus in a large bowl with remaining 1 tablespoon oil; season with salt and pepper. Grill asparagus and lemons (cut side down), turning asparagus often, until stalks are just tender, 2 – 3 minutes. Let lemon halves cool. 6. Toss asparagus with reserved rhubarb butter. Serve chicken and asparagus with any pan juices drizzled over grilled lemons for squeezing over.

Isn’t it uncanny how often significant conversations begin while seated around a table? Be they first coffee dates, university discussion groups, Sunday family lunches, funny stories shared around a campfire, or the significance of the wedding banquet across cultures worldwide, conversation grows relational connection, often facilitated by the sharing of food and drink. How can you begin a weekly practice of curated, intentional conversations, seated around a table of your choosing? Here are a few questions to kickstart your conversation: • What insight has stuck with you this past month from reading the essay introducing Ordinary Time, “Conscious Partial Attention?” • How has your growing awareness of technological creep influenced your life and relationships? • Pick a current world/cultural conflict (Israelis vs. Palestinians, the West vs. ISIS, LGBTQ community vs. conservative Evangelical Christians) and discuss how the dialogue between the two sides could shift if they shared a meal around a common table. • How did Jesus’ invitation to his closest friends to “Come and have breakfast” convince them that this was the Lord? What was it about his act of hospitality that convinced them (see John 21:1-14)?